


Sympathy for the Devil Special Chapters

by Saphie3243



Series: Sympathy for the Devil [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphie3243/pseuds/Saphie3243
Summary: Some of the extra content from Sympathy for the Devil.None of it will make sense without reading that first.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Sympathy for the Devil [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928338
Comments: 34
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place between 12 and 13 of Sympathy for the Devil.
> 
> Put it here because I both didn't think it flowed, and I wanted to keep Sympathy entirely Nesta POV.

Azalea held Nesta’s unconscious body close to his own. Slowly, he adjusted the vines so she was secured flush against him. He coated her with a puff of pollen. The glamor should hide Nesta from sight and scent. If he was lucky. If she didn’t wake and start thrashing around again. 

He kept watch outside the house, wincing at every scream. Azalea didn’t have much love for humans, having lived among them for so many years, but he didn’t despise them so. He didn’t delight in their torment like his companions here. And he certainly didn’t expect Nesta and the stable boy to come galloping down the road. 

He was lucky no one noticed him walk away, lucky no one heard him shout a command, or noticed the puff of his pollen. He had needed it, the extra boost to override their panic. Not that it worked on the human that mattered. The one his High Lord needed alive if he was ever going to woo Feyre. Of course, Tamlin never had to talk to Nesta. Cauldron boil him, she was one hateful bitch. She offered kindness to no one, was barely polite to her own sister, downright cruel to her father. 

But his High Lord had ordered him. 

The screams stopped after a time, and the Attor stalked out of the house with a bound and crying woman. _ Dear Mother, she’s still conscious. _ Laughing, the Attor called for its minions to return - they had Amaranthra’s prize. 

“I’ll stay and take care of the evidence, you don’t’ need a guide for the way back, I’m sure.” Azalea’s offer was casual, dismissive. 

“No need,” Attor replied. 

“Apologies, but it is protocol in the Spring Court to clean up our messes, the humans can be annoyingly easy to spook.” It was, but that wasn’t why he offered. He needed them to leave him behind. The Attor studied him for a long moment, and Azalea prayed to Cauldron that his glamor held. 

“Not for much longer,” the Attor’s deep laugh was nauseating, clearly delighting in this torture and torment. 

Azalea watched it fly away, and felt himself relax a little. He set about setting the house to burn, pouring oils on the mutilated bodies of the Beddor family. They wouldn’t be recognizable in the morning, but that was preferred. No one needed to see this. 

As he left the burning house, he released Nesta from the tight hold. Throwing her over his shoulder, Azalea ran to the Archeron Estate. He stole into the house through the servants’ entrance and walked up the stairs to Nesta’s suite. It was hardly surprising when he found Jenny waiting inside. 

“Go to your rooms, you helped Nesta get to bed hours ago,” he released another burst of pollen as his magic swelled. The maid’s eyes widened and then glazed over. She yawned, muttered something about being sleepy, and promptly left. 

Azalea set Nesta down on her bed, drew the curtains, and went to her dresser. He found what he hoped was a sleeping shift and tossed it on the bed next to her. He probably should have asked the maid to do this, but if Nesta woke up and panicked, she would wake the house, and trying to restrain Nesta while glamoring the staff would end up being a fruitless effort. Especially since glamors didn’t seem to work on her. 

He unlaced her boot and yanked it off. Azalea was particularly talented at glamors, that’s why he was assigned as the Human Realm Emissary.  _ Spy  _ had once been the more precise term, though in the last 5 decades,  _ cleaner _ was more accurate. He hated this role, hated that the one time he didn’t come home when ordered, his High Lord had been cursed. 

He pulled Nesta’s dress over her head, followed by the shift. He tried to pull off the third garment but it was laced up tight. Sighing, he reached down and pulled at the laces. He’d seen humans resistant to glamors before, sometimes people are particularly stubborn and can push through the fog, manipulate the influence. He had thought that was what he was dealing with all these months, just a stubborn mule of a woman. But tonight, she didn’t even seem to register the glamor, the magic.

As soon as the chemise was off, he pulled the sleeping shift over her head. Leaning her up against his body, he undid her hair.  _ But then,  _ he thought,  _ she had been unusually desperate _ . Was it love? Maybe this spiteful human was capable of love afterall. Maybe she was so filled with determination to get to Clare that it overrode his powers. 

He tucked her into bed and stepped back. She seemed... so peaceful. He had never seen Nesta without a sneer. Except the first day they met, when she beheld him with a momentary look of horror. No, it wasn’t that she was particularly worked up tonight, glamors simply didn’t work on her. They never had. 

It explained her disdain and coolness towards him, her discomfort with him being around Elain, how she always seemed to be resisting or circumventing his orders. It was impressive, if terrifying. He’d never, in his 200 years, met a human that could shrug off a glamor. Then again, he’d never met a human half a stubborn, who had just lost her sister to a High Lord. 

Perhaps that’s what did it? Perhaps that’s how she was able to resist. All of his glamors, all of his lies, they were to build this fantasy that Feyre was visiting an aunt, not being wooed by his High Lord. Maybe because she never believed that lie, the rest were hard to swallow. 

He picked up her clothing to discard it in the laundry basket when an envelope fell out. Picking it up, he noted who it was addressed to, the unmistakable mark of lipstick. She was at that house for love, and only love would stop her from ruining everything. He stole some of her parchment and wrote out a quick note, unable to resist a bit of flattery to start. 

_ I must commend your will in resisting our glamors so. I’m sure I needn’t remind you the importance of your discretion, but I will do so anyway. Your sister’s life depends on it. _

He wrapped the note around the letter, and tucked it under the pillow next to her, lest someone else finds it first. With a quick nod, he walked out of her room, through the house, and into the night. 


	2. Cassian Discard 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian POV snippet from the first visit to the Archeron Estate.

Cassian opened the door to his room for the night and froze.  _ That bitch thinks she’s funny.  _ This room was next to Feyre and Rhys’s, as requested, and did have two beds, as requested. But the beds were small, child sized. Forget his wings, Cass’s legs wouldn’t fit on the damn things. 

Azriel looked over Cass’s shoulder and sighed. “We could request another room, she’s still up.” 

“No. That’s exactly what she wants.” She absolutely wants to bait them into anger, just so she could be justified with her dismissal of their entire kind. 

“The floor then?” 

Cass nodded, stripping the bed to make a little nest on the floor. He and Azriel lay down. It wasn’t the least comfortable place they’d slept, but Cass had been to prisons less welcoming. He tossed and turned, unable to settle his mind to sleep. After a few minutes of fruitless meditation, he sat up. “I’m going to check the perimeter.” 

“Sure” 

Cass went back down the stairs, noting the smell of a roaring fireplace still going on the first floor. So she was still up. He shook his head and walked out the front door. He ran a bit away from the house before launching into the air. 

Nesta was both exactly what he expected and nothing like it at all. From Feyre’s accounts of her childhood, and Rhys’s complaints of Feyre’s accounts of her childhood, he had expected her to be indifferent, cold. The negative opinion only grew as he, Rhys, and Az perched on the roof of the house listening to the sisters talk. She was so stand-offish, so unwilling to help. 

But then he saw her, and felt indescribable buzzing. Her veneer of indifferent hatred and control was just that, a veneer. He could smell the fear tang around both sisters, even if hers did not show on her face. And when Feyre mouthed off to her, for a moment he could have sword pride flashed in her eyes. That’s what pissed him off the most, she was proud of Feyre - she clearly thought Feyre became as strong as she was because of her sister’s behavior, not in spite of it. 

That was why he wanted to strike out, knock her down a peg. But her skin was iron, impenetrable from the outside. There was no attack he could launch at her from the outside that would break it. But Elain, Feyre… they were already in. Elain said one sentence and he got to glance at what was inside that armor. 

A storm. 

There was a terrible storm sitting just beneath her skin, trying to punch it’s way out. Every breath, every insult, every unfeeling dismissal was her reining it all in. He really wanted to see what she was like unleashed. And she caught him staring, caught him waiting for her to rage… 

And she pulled it all back down. 

Disappointing. 

He flew around for a while, glamored to blend in with the night. The state of the estate surprised him. It wasn’t just vain lawns and pretty scenery. There was a farm, a barn with animals, a woodmill, and small homesteads. It seems their father has done quite a bit to make the most of spring’s gift. 

When it was too cold to be out anymore, Cass flew back to the house. He noted a light on the first floor, someone was still up. Maybe it was just curiosity, but he couldn’t just go back upstairs. He needed to see who was there. He walked in the front door and down the hall. He followed the scent of a burning fire and ink down to a heavy wooden door. 

He could have knocked. Should have knocked. But he wanted to catch her off guard, see if he could see what she was like when no one was looking. He opened the door, surprised to find that the room was a study. Her father’s study probably. But… no. It didn’t smell like a man. It smelled like Nesta. 

And there she was, collapsed on top of the desk, quill still in her hand. Her head was resting on her arm. From the sound of her breathing, her heart beat, she was definitely asleep. He walked up to her carefully, inspecting the scene. The book open under her head seemed to be an accounting ledger. Next to it were stacks of letters, invoices, orders. Her father didn’t manage this estate - she did. 

She mumbled something incomprehensible, sighed, and tucked her head further into her arm, causing her cheek to rub into still wet ink on the page. Slick blackness smeared on her relaxed face, giving her an air of peaceful chaos. It was a stunning sight. She was stunning, earlier, a beacon of strength and anger in the face of her fear. But seeing her here, seeing the work behind it all, this was breathtaking. 

He stopped his hand just inches from her face.  _ Why the hell did I almost do that? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is on hold at the moment as I am making my sister's wedding dress and spent Saturday in the ER for swallowing a sewing pin. 
> 
> YAY


	3. Excerpts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got enough feedback requesting a lore dump, but I'm me so of course I decided to make it four primary sources. Included:   
> \- A draft memo on humans, prepared by Azriel   
> \- Nesta's notes on her research into magic   
> \- Excerpts from a research paper sent to Nesta after she asked a certain high lord about witches  
> \- Helion's personal diary on the very intriguing Archeron Sisters

**On Modern Humans**

Draft Prepared by Azriel, Spymaster for the Night Court: 

Our information of Human lands is particularly outdated (for instance there are only 5 countries now). Below is a summary of what I have gleaned from conversations with Nesta Archeron and Vassa. 

Human lands are below the 55th Parallel. The human lands we must worry about are divided between the Western Continent and Prythian Island (something humans only refer to as ‘the Island’)

Prythian Island: 

The island has no monarch, and is ruled through a loose patchwork and alliance of land-owners. I’m told this is actually functional, though I do not see how such a decentralized government can function. This is due to no Continental nation wanting to take responsibility for the small number of humans located in a small slip of land. 

The Western Continent: 

There are 5, formally 6 countries that make up the Continent human lands. They are each ruled by a Queen. This was established as a spiteful response to the Fae who only having male rulers. The government structure varies from there, but most important to note is that none of the monarchs seem to hold absolute power like our High Lords do. 

  
  


Scythia: 

Located closest to the Wall, Scythia took the solemn duty of monitoring it on the continent. To make sure they never have to fight wars on multiple fronts, they have a strict neutrality policy when it comes to Human conflicts. This is respected by other human nations who also do not want Scythia to be drawn away from their Wall duty. Scythia specializes in mounted cavalry. 

The crown shares power with a council of Ministers (Military, Agriculture, Treasury, Guilds and Trades). The council must approve the coronation of the sovereign, and they may also unanimously oust a leader who is not capable of ruling. They may also rule in the stead of the Queen if she is temporarily incompacitated or if the new Queen is not of age (under 16). The current monarch is Vassa. 

Bremerhaven: 

Located just below Scythia. Bremerhaven’s current queen is actually  _ not  _ directly descended from the original queens. This serves as a prime example how human political power is random and unpredictable. Her family came to power in a military coup 300 years prior to the Wall falling. As such Bremerhaven has a heavy militarized government, composed of the crown and her generals and that’s really it. They do not have much in the way of art or finery, preferring any extra money or wealth gets poured into their military. Their extreme military culture has led to  _ many _ wars with surrounding nations. 

Rhine-Weser: 

Formally two separate nations, they were locked in war for about 100 years before the current peace treaty was signed and sealed 75 years ago. Terms of the treaty keep each nation more or less independent, complete with their own massive royal families. Members of each serve as lords, council, and legislature. The matriarchs of each family (the Queens) are expected to marry one another to keep the families united and act as joint rulers. This also stems from the treaty being brokered by the two queens 75 years ago. According to the romance novels and poems (Nesta has surprisingly extensive knowledge of these), it was so they could be together. According to the personal diaries, they just realized Bremerhaven was spurring on the war to weaken both and take lands as needed. “Love conquering all” was a good cover. The diaries also show that though the relationship started as a political ploy, it most certainly evolved into more. 

The palace at the border of the nations is a marvelous duplex castle for both families. Half is made of black marble, half of white. Rhine is land-locked, with fertile farms and rich in natural resources (ore and what not). Weser is a coastal country with an exceptional navy. United, they are a strong nation that has actually stood up to Bremerhaven and pushed them back. 

Oder: 

Located below Rhine-Weser. Ober is ruled by a constitutional monarchy. The Queen actually has very little actual power, but her influence is massive. She shares power with a parliament made up of lords and landowners. Ober’s military is midling, and they have involved themselves with skirmishes throughout the years, taking special advantage of the Rhine-Weser conflicts. But overall they focus on trade and colonization on the eastern continents. 

Oder is well-known for its universities. 

Elbe: 

The southernmost country of the Western Continent, Elbe actually spans across multiple continents, taking up the southern coast of the western continent, the northern coast of the southern continent, and the western coast of the eastern continent. They are bordered to the south and east by vast deserts, which prevent expansion. Elbe is, technically speaking, a republic, but in practice is more of an empire. Elbe is rich in gold, to the point that their empress does not wear a traditional crown, but rather covers herself in gold dust. They also trade heavily in fish, olives, and wine. It also seems the Alkanians merged into Elbe.

~~ Their most famous piece of literature, The Romance of Elbe is an epic poem, penned officially under the pseudonym, A Lover, but is believed to be written by the first Queen Andromache. It covers the end of the Great War, and depicts a sexual relationship between Andromache and Morrigan that has been the center of many controversial debates in universities around the world.  ~~

  
  


* * *

  
  


**From the Notebook of Nesta Archeron**

Magic is divided into three categories, but most books only detail 2, as the third is mostly practiced by females and scholars tend to dismiss it as “not real”.

The categories are as follows: Instinctual Magic, Intentional Magic, and Creation Magic. 

Instinctual Magic is magic that the user is born with, granted to them by the Cauldron. This magic is tied to either the species of Fae or the Court of Origin. Water-wraiths, and their ability to manipulate the water around them to allow for impossible swimming speeds, are practicing instinctual magic. The Suriel and their knowledge is likewise instinctual magic. Illyrians and their battle magic, though concentrated with siphons, are also classified as instinctual magic. 

High Fae are slightly different. High Fae all have the ability to winnow, but how far and how many things or people they can bring with them vary based on the amount of magic they have. Additionally, members of the High Lord’s family may have Court-magic, to varying degrees. It is unknown whether possessing the most Court Magic makes you a high lord, or if being a High Lord gives you extra Court Magic. 

Intentional Magic: 

Read: Spells. Intentional magic is spells. Spells may have various components, whether they are verbal, somatic, or material. Some require symbols to be drawn and spoken over, some require foci, but the only thing that really defines intentional magic is that it cannot be done “accidently”. No one accidentally casts a spell, they must learn and practice and refine. Advanced users may actually learn to cast spells without components, assuming they refine it properly. Intentional magic is also, distinctly,  _ not _ tied to the power of the user. It uses the power flowing through the world as its base, so as long as you learn the spell, you can cast it. Though it should be noted that some spell-casters are naturally better at this than others. This may be due to boosting spells with your own stores of magic, as is the case with powerful instinctual magic users, or due to the user being open to the feel of magic around them. The latter is labeled as a “witch”, though this term is not well understood and carries heavy connotations. . 

Creation Magic (potions, etc): 

This is where Intentional and Instinctual Magic divisions are not enough. Creation Magic relies on the natural magic of the user, and may be practiced without meaning to, but it isn't random. Creation Magic is the art of imbuing things that are made with magic (creating magical items). The Magic must be infused throughout the creation process, and depending on how much of the process involves that infusion determines how long the magic resides. The power of the Created items also depends on how much power the maker puts in. 

Creation magic is not very well studied (it wasn't even in the magic book Amren gave me) despite being the most widely practiced. This is due in large part to creation magic being mostly practiced in the home, by the homemaker. Anything from cooking to weaving to gardening to potion-making may be creation magic, as long as the magic is infused. However, if no magic is infused, then you are left with just the thing that was made. Oftentimes, users may not be aware they are practicing magic, as they simply give off slight power through focusing on what they are doing, creating items that are just believed to be higher quality. Cooking, the most common creation magic, is a very good example of this. The secret ingredient, as it turns out, was never love, but magic. (it is also why Fae cooking is so good)

It is a careful art that requires great care and detail, the most powerful magical items are infused with magic from the very beginning. For instance, a Magic Carpet requires the weaver to not only imbue magic in the weaving process, but while raising the sheep (or growing the reeds or cotton or what have you), while raising the plants to create the dyes, dying the fibers, spinning the fibers to yarn,  _ and _ weaving the carpet. If any step is skipped or is not done with magic, then the power might not last or might not be very strong. 

* * *

**Excerpts from "On Witches" a paper by Noileh Sun Shine**

"Witches have been a bit of an enigma. Not much, if anything, is widely known about them, and that is due both to their rarity and the Cauldron’s singular hatred of them. Witches defy the very nature of the Cauldron, as they are not born with power from it, but rather take power from everything around them. A witch may be born to any species at random, but it is often passed through family lines. They may range in power or ability wildly, from a predisposition to obtain power (rarely if ever formally identified as a witch) to the what is known as a True Witch."

"True Witches can feel, see and absorb the power around them like a sponge, even from other beings, and do so against their will. It is not a limitless power, however, there is a maximum amount of power a witch may have at any one time, though it is rare for powerful witches to reach it, as expending power leaves room for more power. Due to their absorption abilities, true witches are more or less immune to spells cast directly on them (like glamours, illusions, and mind-manipulation). This feature is the best known way to identify a true witch, and is dubbed “witch-sight”. Witches are actually a large danger to Daemanti, as touching their mind may cause them to unconsciously drain the daemanti. "

"Witches cannot absorb each other’s magic."

"Ashwood (witchwood) 

Ashwood was once known as Witchwood, but this is a misnomer and another case of Fae giving names to things without really understanding them. Yes, Ashwood absorbs magic. But it only does this as a means to absorb  _ life. _ It is why humans are immune to it, they have no magic to absorb, so the ash cannot _ reach _ their life. Ash is usually equally dangerous to witches who have absorbed power as they are to everyone else. The only beings seemingly immune to the effect of ashwood are aberrations of death, such as Stryga, the Weaver, whose own loom is made of the wood. "

* * *

**From the personal journal of Helion, High Lord of Day:**

  
  


The Archeron Sisters are an extreme rarity. They are the only known witches born to the human race. I can only assume there have been others, but humans have such a small capacity for magic that their levels of absorption are almost imperceptible. Nesta, being the only living True Witch I know of is further irony as the only benefit a human could have is Witch-Sight. However, the fates are fascinating and must have predicted their Making, as the sisters, in their transformation to Fae, actually  _ gained _ capacity for power and instinctual magic. 

Feyre’s capacity and instinctual magic was defined by the power myself and the other High Lords unwittingly gave her. However the other two sisters are more intriguing. Their capacity was defined in the process of their making, based on the amount of magic they got from the Cauldron. That they both show signs of unique instinctual magic makes me wonder. Do humans have instinctual magic that simply lacks a power supply? Such a nature would be supported by Nesta’s stated relationship with Ashwood. Her human friend said she wanted to be in a grove of it as a human and Mor says she was unaffected as a Fae. I shall ask her about it the next time I see her. (I do hope she takes up my offer to join my court.)

  
  


At any rate, the sisters are a perfect case study for the different ways a witch may be predisposed to gain power. Lesser witches, like Feyre and Elain, gain their power by having it willingly granted to them by other entities. (Some of the known lore has witches forming formal ‘pacts’ with powerful beings to gain their power). Nesta, the eldest, is the only True Witch of the three, and can gain power from anywhere, simply by choosing to take it. Hybern was a  _ damn  _ fool. His own biases against humans prevented him from seeing that it was a True Witch he was throwing into the Cauldron. Fucking idiot. 

Though it might not entirely be his fault… Stryga knew of her when I brought it up. She mentioned she had been waiting for Nesta to join her ranks since the girl was born. Long before she was anywhere near the Cauldron. The Cauldron itself seemed to hate her, too. But if it wasn’t pre-ordained by the Cauldron, then what? 

Damn that Amaranthra. I need my libraries. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started as a straight lore dump but switched from text book boring tone to kind of sassy at the end and decided to change it to primary sources. 
> 
> For context: Helion asked about Nesta when he made the deal with Stryga. 
> 
> Can anyone guess who wrote the research paper?


	4. Cassian on the roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian finds Nesta reading a dirty book on the roof of the House of wind.   
> Cassian POV of Lies and Fine China (part 1)

Cassian leaned against Amren’s apartment door. The little firedrake was nestled on her bed, surrounded by countless papers and notes. He could spy a single corner of the Book of Breathings sticking out from under the mass of paperwork.    
  


“What do you want, boy?” Amren didn’t look up as she spoke, too focused on the papers in front her. 

“I need you to look at this.” Cassian withdrew a mottled and decimated book. Nesta had dropped it when she freaked out, and he had taken it with him, unsure what to do about it. He sat with it for a week, watching her and the House carefully for another sign of an outburst. He could feel her power flaring when she was particularly annoyed or angry, but he hadn’t seen it so obvious since that afternoon. 

Amren sniffed the air, catching the scent of decay and death from the book, and then leered at him. “The handiwork of the Eldest Archeron, I take it.” 

_ Mmm. Beautiful Nesta. Cruel Mistress. I miss her. Let me see her. Let her use me.  _

“Shut up!” both Cass and Amren shot at the Book. It always stirred whenever Nesta was mentioned in its presence. Even if there had been no other indication that there was power she was hiding, that was all they needed to know.

Amren turned back to Cass, holding up her hand. He tossed the book to her. She examined it. “Is this the only sign of her powers?”

“And the garden.” 

Amren raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the garden?” 

“It’s… not much of a garden anymore.” 

Amren sighed. “I liked that garden.” 

“Amren, she has power. She needs to learn what to do with it.” He knew he was out of his league here. Whatever Nesta had was too different, too dark, too ancient, for him to be able to teach her anything about it. Even Rhysand might not be able to help her. But Amren also had an ancient power that was beyond understanding. She could help. 

Amren sighed and tossed the book back to him. “If she agrees to it.” Cassian caught the book, about to thank her, but she spoke over him. “When I met Nesta Archeron, she was strangling that power with sheer force of will. I suspect she still is. She’s on a fuse, Cassian.” 

“I know.”    
  


Cassian tucked the book back into his shirt and left. Once outside he broke into a sprint, spreading his wings and lifting off with a mighty leap. They were still sore from their healing, and weaker, too. Once Cass was able to simply jump into a full flight. Now, he needed the boost of a sprint or elevation to leap off of. It would get better. It had already gotten so much better. But it still sucked. 

The near-daily flights to the House of Wind actually helped. Rhys hadn’t had to order Az or him to stay in the city while they healed. Distance flying was out of the question at the moment, and though Az was back up now, it had taken weeks for the poison’s effects to leave his system. 

He caught the sight of a small figure on a balcony of the House and banked around to stay out of view. Nesta was reading outside again. It wasn’t unusual for her. She was most often in the library, curled up in her chair under the window, but it seemed whenever she needed a change of pace, she would pick a random balcony or couch in some hidden corner of the house and settle in. Wherever it was though, it usually was high up and had a great view. 

She was a far cry from the imperial lady he’d seen during those dinners, presiding over her surroundings with the harshest of temperaments. But she was also a far cry from where she was when he first visited her here. He shouldn’t have flown that far that fast. But Az told him that the sisters were here, keeping to themselves in the house. Mor had been up to see them as well, she warned him Nesta was angry, that she didn’t seem keen on seeing anyone. 

But Cass needed to see her anyway. He needed to see for himself what she had become as the result of his failure. And what he found was heartbreaking. He had gotten to the suite door when he heard the rustle of movement within, soft voices. 

“C’mon Elain, let’s get you cleaned up,” followed by a soft grunt, the padding of feet, rustling of fabric, the running of water. A drawer opened and closed. “Arms up… fine just rest them on my shoulders.” “We’re going to chair for now, ok?” another grunt, more padding, and then… a yelp, some shouts, a bang, the smell of blood. He almost knocked down the door then but she spoke almost immediately, “It’s fine, I’ll clean it up, just stay in the damn chair, ok?” Her voice changed from gentle and loving to annoyed and irate. But Cassian still stood by the door and listened to what he could only assume was the sounds of dirty sheets being washed in the bathtub. 

“Sheetz ‘r ‘chang’d,” Nesta mumbled and closed a door. More stepping and then a small plop. “Dam’t” There was still the smell of fresh blood wafting in the air. He knocked on the door. Another wave of blood. He knocked again. “Go ‘way.” The increased slurring of her words concerned him more than anything. He knocked a third time. This time when he scented the gush of blood he didn't bother waiting. Cass busted the lock with a small burst of magic and tore into the room. Barely able to catch her before she collapsed on the floor. 

Nesta was…. broken, exhausted, and still somehow still proud. He would never forget the sight of her trying to look down her nose at him with a bloody washcloth plastered her face. That was the most civil conversation they'd ever had. Nesta was too tired to put up her walls, and he was too worried to prod her. He kept touching her, desperate to feel her life under his fingertips, but she was too exposed for him not to respect her wishes. But she let him feel her, heal her, she even…

There was a special, sad, glorious place in his heart for the memory of Nesta relaxing into sleep under his hands. 

And Nesta was never that open to him again. The next time he saw her, she was reading in the library, icy barbed walls raised once more. And that was her right. If she didn’t want to be vulnerable, she didn’t have to be. Sparring is fun, anyway. And she was so good at it. 

The queen of mixed-signals. One moment she’s biting his ear, hard enough that it hurt, the next she’s practically begging him to back off flirting. She wants him to leave her alone, yet she still stays curled up on the couch in whatever room she knew he was in. Sometimes she talks to him when he’s there, other days she just exists in the same space. And he knew it was just to keep an eye on him, to make sure he wasn’t going to see Elain, but he wanted it to be because she liked him being there. 

Worry about that later. 

Cassian landed softly on the roof behind her. Nesta was curled up on a little balcony, book on her knees, a glass of wine barely touched and forgotten beside her, the bottle behind it. She would do this sometimes, get so invested in a book that the world faded away around her. It was the only time he could sneak up on her. He stepped closer, smelling… something. 

_ Oh? _

He dropped down beside her, sitting his ass right across from her, taking immense pleasure in her startled gasp, watching the blush rise in her cheeks. She knew she had been caught. 

“Been here a minute. Makes sense you didn’t hear me, you seemed  _ very _ interested in that book.” He leaned in. The smell of her arousal was as intoxicating as it was... arousing. She backed away as much as she could, but she was trapped by her decision to use the smallest balcony of the House of Wind. 

She masterfully schooled her expression. Good. This wasn’t fun if she wasn’t up for the fight. “Didn’t your mother tell you eavesdropping was rude?”

“You weren’t talking, sweetheart,” he shot back. Then, just to fuck with her. “You were giggling.” 

“I was not!” 

“Then maybe it was moaning?” 

“It was  _ not!” _

“No judgement here,” he put his hands in the air. “Let me know if your hand could use some real life inspiration,” he winked. 

She whipped the book at his head full force. Cassian caught it with a smile and made a show of reading the title.  Rebel Love , a trashy romance series famous for its detailed sex scenes. This was a gift from the Mother. Nesta was trying her damndest to not look embarrassed, to pretend that he didn’t know exactly what this book was and how much she was enjoying it. This was just so perfect. He had to keep going. 

“Should I read this for pointers or...?” 

Nesta’s eyes flashed, and gave him a wicked grin, “I didn’t realize you needed an instruction manual.” 

_ Too many good comebacks, but let’s go with _ , “I prefer hands-on lessons.” He said those words into her mouth. He knew he was too close, but Mother and Cauldron help him all he wanted was to be too close. He was not a fool, not out of control, he knew what he wanted, what he wanted to give her, do with her, do to her, have her do to him. But he wasn’t about to force it. He let himself stay in reach, if she wanted him, all she would have to do is turn her head up an inch. He watched as she looked as his lips, as the color deepened on her cheeks, listened to the sweet sound of her heart beat. Last time, her bite surprised him. This time, it would be a welcome-

Her fingers gripped his jaw, smooshed his cheeks, and covered his mouth. She held his face there, no small amount of panic on her face. Ah. This again. 

She had pulled away when he licked her neck. 

She had bitten his ear too hard. 

She had never done this before. 

And she wasn’t ready. 

That’s fine. This is still fun. This is frustrating, but Gods damn him if he isn’t enjoying every moment. Well, maybe not this specific moment. His cheeks are starting to hurt under her grip. She had changed from panic to enjoyment as she held him there. She thought she had him, but if Nesta wanted to win, she would need to learn to finish her opponent. As it stands now, Cassian had an easy means of escape. 

He licked her hand. And on cue, Nesta whipped it back, releasing him. Cassian sat back against the opposite wall, giving her some space. 

“You had me there for a moment,” he said, rubbing the pain from his jaw. “What’s the matter Nesta, don’t know how to finish?” 

“Not all of us are battle-brutes,” she wiped her hand on the pewter sleeve and picked up her wine glass. 

“As much fun as it is to play with you Nesta, that is not why I am here.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out the book she had rotted with her power, throwing it at her feet. She picked it up, inspecting it, and when it was clear she knew what it was, he spoke again. “Nesta we need to talk.” 

She dropped the book haphazardly on the ground and picked up her wine. Barely looking at him she took a sip that could only be described as imperious, “Do we?” 

_ Great.  _ **_This_ ** _ Nesta is back.  _ He made his case anyway, already gearing himself up for an uphill battle.  “You need training.”

She ignored him for a moment, focusing on the wine she was swirling in her glass. He almost repeated himself when she piped up again. “Is this your opinion?” He hated when she got like this. This side of Nesta was her ultimate defense. She was under the assumption that acting like a colossal bitch would deter him. As though he didn’t know she was doing this on purpose, or that this side came out, mostly, when she felt she  _ needed _ the extra defenses. It usually meant he was hitting too close to home. And he was. But this needed to be dealt with.

“You took something from the Cauldron, Nesta. And it’s powerful. You need to learn to control it.”    
  


“I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

  
“So you had nothing to do with Rhys’s garden?” He raised an eyebrow at her. She could try and play dumb all she wanted, but he knew she knew she was barely holding it all in. And she knew he knew it. 

“It’s nothing,” she said it with such emphasis, as though she was trying to convince herself of that, too.    
  


He responded to her in kind. “No. It’s not.” He saw her ready to argue but he kept going, he needed to make his case clear. “This time it was just a book and a garden. What if next time it’s a person? What if it’s Elain?”

“Do. not.” 

He didn’t let her dismiss his genuine concern because she didn’t like the reality of her situation. “Even Feyre had to practice to control her magic. Nesta, let me-”    
  


“Don’t compare me to her,” from the sharpness of that tone, he had stepped in it. “We are not the same if you haven’t noticed.”    
  


“Oh I’ve noticed.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

The problem, he realized, is that whenever he starts anything with Nesta, even if he doesn’t mean to, he usually ends up losing his temper. He knows, objectively, that he should let it go and be the bigger person. That she’s having a rough time of it and barely holding it together. But for some reason, some fucking reason, whenever she baits him, he bites. He can’t help it and Mother help him, he doesn’t know  _ why _ . “It means your sister tried. She fought to learn, to take control of her life, to help herself. What do you  _ do _ Nesta? What have you ever done? You are  _ offered  _ what she fought for, you just stick up your nose at it!” 

Nesta  _ snarled _ . “What do you want from me, Cassian? Do you want me to be  _ happy _ about this?”

“No, but-”

“Plaster a smile on my face and pretend that my body is still mine? That my people aren’t  _ dead _ ? Do you want me to fall to my knees at your feet and beg you for help? Pretend that Feyre and your court walked death into my home? Pretend that  _ I _ didn’t invite it in?” 

He had nothing to say to that. She had spoken over him. What he was going to say. He didn’t expect her to be okay with what happened, or to be happy about it. He just wanted her to accept the help she so desperately needed. But she wasn't ready for that. Because what she wanted right now wasn't control or help. She wanted punishment. For herself and everyone else she held responsible for her predicament. Even if it wasn't really their fault. She downed her wine in a gulp, and levelled her stare at him. With eerie calm she said, “I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your help. Just shut your mouth and stay the hell away from me.” 

“Nesta...”  _ Please don’t do this to yourself. _

He never got to say that, though. Because at that moment, shadows swirled and darkened, and Azriel materialized on the roof, and Feyre needed them. He wanted to apologize, to promise to come back and finish this conversation. But Nesta was on him in a moment, shoving him toward his brother, ordering him to go save her little sister. 

It tore him up. For all her anger and indignation, for all the blame she claimed to lay at Feyre’s feet, she didn’t hesitate to send help. She didn’t hate them. At least, she didn't hate them as much as she hated herself. 

And for some reason, knowing that hurt worse than whatever Hybern did to his wings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my goal of 7K words for my novel so I'm taking a break and chugging out a special chapter.


	5. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lies and Fine China part 2 - electric boogaloo.

Rhys went out to join Feyre and Lucien, to tell his side of the story. Cass didn’t really care to join them, or hear about how he had failed his High Lord and brother yet again, so he wandered into the sitting room. He was a little surprised Nesta didn’t appear the moment they landed. She usually heard them coming as long as she wasn’t too lost in her books. And it was still early for her to be reading. She’d be forcing breakfast on Elain right about now. Definitely in earshot. 

  
He drifted to the stairs, looking up. _ Was something up with Elain? _ Az had checked on her once, while he was distracting Nesta, and he just reported that she was the same as she was after the Cauldron. Mostly vacant and melancholic, if not visually frightened of them. He supposed that was why Nesta kept them away from her. He wasn’t entirely sure if Az knew the rest of it. He was up here more than anyone, by a wide margin. He heard her fight with Elain, literally shove breakfast in her mouth. He could smell the stench of urine and feces that comes with bathing and changing another person. He knew, probably better than anyone in the Inner Circle, that Nesta was keeping Elain alive by force. He also knew that Nesta didn’t want any of them to know. 

Another, far more pleasant scent caught his nose as he was looking up the stairs. He turned around, looked down, and found a teacup shattered on the floor.  _ Three guesses who  _ **_that_ ** _ belongs to. _ He knelt down and inspected the teacup, letting himself listen to more than just Feyre’s conversation. He could barely make out the sound of footsteps headed down the library stairs. He wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but if he had to guess: Nesta had seen them approach, dropped her cup, and then made a run for it instead of greeting them. Clearly she was feeling conflicted about this reunion. Sparing a glance in Lucien’s direction, he did not need three guesses to figure out  _ what  _ she could  _ possibly be  _ conflicted about. 

Cass palmed a shard and let his magic clean up the rest. He wasn’t sure  _ when _ it happened, but apparently keeping Nesta’s secrets was second nature now. He stuck his hand - one still holding the shard- in his pockets and leaned against the side of the couch, waiting. Eventually, Feyre and Rhys finished catching Lucien up and were ready to go visit the sisters. 

Leaving Lucien on the balcony, Rhysand started leading his High Lady to the stairs. Cass called out with his mind.  _ Rhys _ .  _ Library. _ Rhysand never directly read their minds without permission, and drowned out as many stray thoughts that came to him as possible. But after 500 years working together, he had long learned to hone in on intentional silent calls. With a slight nod to Cass, he led them to the left, down the hallway, and down two flights of stairs. 

_ Nice try, _ was Cassian’s first thought upon opening the library doors and seeing Nesta curled up on her favorite chair with what appeared to be  Rebel Love . If he didn’t know better, he’d have assumed she was actually there reading. The second thought, coming to him the moment she stood up and he got a look at her dress, was  _ oh shit. _

Nesta was in the same pewter gown he last saw her in. Looking closely, her eyes were dark and her hair was frayed. She had waited up all night for them. Guilt crept up through his features, pain resting in his eyes. They had Feyre back safe and sound 16 hours ago. And all that time, no one bothered to tell Nesta. She had practically shoved him into Az upon hearing Feyre was in trouble and then spent all night probably thinking she still was. 

“You’re back.” 

There was no hint of relief in her voice. She was a portrait of her perfect imperial self, all pride and stoicism. If there was ever a guess as to whether she wanted anyone to know she was up all night worrying, it was answered with her next words. Short and clipped, she snapped the words to him and what he could only assume was the guilt on his face. “What do you want?” 

“At least immortality hasn’t changed you.” 

Cass almost winced at Feyre’s attempt at a joke. Nesta was  _ pissed.  _ “Is there a purpose to this visit, or may I return to my book?” 

This was going to end badly. Very badly. He stepped forward languidly, letting his posture and affectations dip back into the cocky flirting he knew would both piss Nesta off and draw her attention. She watched him as he approached, and he noted the momentary panic that crossed her eyes as he walked up to her. _ By the Mother _ ,  _ she’s afraid I’m going to out her  _ **_caring about her sister_ ** _.  _

He spread a wing out, letting it brush her shoulder. To anyone else, it was just more flirting, more taunting. But what it was, what it really was, was cover. Within the shade of his wing, he was able to press the tea cup shard into Nesta’s palm.  _ I know, ok? I didn’t tell them about this and I’m not going to tell them anything else. But I know. I know you give a shit. _

He could only hope the message got across as he reached for  Rebel Love , as though he was actually going there the entire time. To sell his little ploy, he even teased her with one of the more famous scenes from the novel. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a romance reader.” It occurred to him after he said it that she might not have gotten to that particular scene. Nesta seized up. Maybe she had? He leafed through the book, watching her from the corner of his eyes. She wasn’t relaxing, and she was still ready to pop. Guess now is the time to remind her  _ why _ her sister was gone for two months. “You haven’t missed much while you were off  _ destroying our enemies _ , Feyre. It’s mostly been this.”

His little plan worked, and the sisters moved on to discussing the fall of Ianthe. He continued to casually page through the book, not really paying attention to the content, when he came across one part that was  _ dog-eared. _ He actually scanned this scene. 

> After all they had done to one another, a simple massage shouldn’t affect her so much. But here she was, naked under him, feeling his hands work around her aching muscles. Every movement of his fingers on her back was bliss, and she could not but help recalling how they felt between her legs. She must not have been alone in her thoughts, as his hands slowly but surely traveled down. When he got to her groin, she spread herself for him, and relished in his dark chuckle of amusement at the slick he found ther-

Nesta snatched the book from his hand before he could finish the scene. It took a bit longer than he’d ever admit out loud to recover from Nesta saving an explicit version of the innocent service he once provided her. He had, at some points, felt guilty for the dirtier fantasies he had about that night. At the time, he entertained no such thoughts, she was in a state and just needed some gods-damn sleep. But it didn’t stop his imagination after the fact. Knowing she felt the same… well he might not feel quite so guilty anymore. 

But these were thoughts for later. At the moment, there was still this very contentious reunion to- 

“You’re my sister. I watched them hurt you. I wanted to see if you were alright.” 

He watched something in Nesta snap. “What do I care? I get to be young and beautiful  _ forever _ !” He couldn’t see her face from where he was standing, but he could hear the terrifying painted smile she put on. For some reason, he imagined it was similar to the lethal grin the monster in the library had given him once. 

She pressed on. “And I never have to go back to those sycophantic fools over the wall. I get to do as I wish, since apparently no one here has any regard for rules or manners or our traditions.” He wasn’t entirely sure  _ what _ he did to deserve the traditions barb. But she shot it at him anyway and turned back to Feyre. “Perhaps I should  _ thank you  _ for dragging me into this.”  _ That’s a whole lotta words to say, no, I’m not alright.  _ “But it’s not me you should be checking on.” Cassian knew where she was going as soon as she said the sentence. “I had as little at stake on the other side of the wall as I do here.”  _ Liar. _ But then again, it fit in her habit, playing the bitch, playing down her own suffering because someone else was suffering more. “She will not leave her room. She will not stop crying. She will not eat, or sleep, or drink.” 

He hadn’t heard her say the words out loud before. 

Rhysand, somehow, seemed shocked at the news. “I have asked you over and over if you needed—” Small twinges of guilt panged in Cassian’s stomach. He was technically supposed to be fulfilling the duty of offering aid, but he stopped trying when it became abundantly clear Nesta would rather eat glass than accept it. 

“Why should I allow any of you to get near her?” Nesta shot the words to the males in the room. Then she turned her attention to Feyre, “It is no one’s business but our own.” In a twisted way, this was actually good. All that anger, all that venom, and she still managed to come back to a place where she was genuinely considering Feyre a sister.  _ Could be worse. _

Then Feyre said words that absolutely made everything worse. “Elain’s mate is here.”  _ Shit.  _

“He is no such thing to her,” Nesta was vibrating, that terrible power stirring as she started making a beeline for Feyre. He could see Rhysand already preparing his defenses, knuckles turning white, ready to strike if needed. “If you bring that male anywhere near her, I’ll—” 

“You’ll what?” Cassian made sure she was facing him and not his High Lady before he pressed on. “You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight.” The problem, Cassian would realize later, is that while he is  _ very _ good at being Nesta’s lightning rod, her anger tended to set his off in the process. What starts out as a distraction or a taunt becomes a vehicle for voicing genuine concern and frustration. He was walking toward her without even realizing it. “You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—” 

“Shut your mouth,” she snapped at him, stepping up to his challenge. “I told you to stay the hell away from me, and if you—”

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.” He wasn’t sure when he got so close, but he found himself saying his warning directly into her face. And even though he had intended it to be a warning for approaching Feyre and Rhysand with her power flaring, he found that his mind was calling out a different sort of plea.  _ If you trained though, you could do whatever you wanted, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.  _

They stood in a standoff for maybe a second too long. But Cassian would be damned before he was the first one to back down. Feyre, however, decided to offer a compromise. “If Elain is not up for it, then she won’t see him. I won’t force the meeting on her. But he does wish to see her, Nesta. I’ll ask on his behalf, but the decision will be hers.”

_ Oh, good. No chance of that. See Nesta, you can let it go.  _

“The male who sold us out to Hybern,” there was a level of disbelief and betrayal in Nesta’s voice that cracked his chest. 

“It’s more complicated than that.”  _ Complicated isn’t going to matter here, dammit.  _

“Well, it will certainly be more complicated when Father returns and finds us gone. What do you plan to tell him about all this?” 

“Seeing as he hasn’t sent word from the continent in months, I’ll worry about that later.” 

Nesta sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t care. Do what you want.” He heard the words she didn’t say.  _ You won’t listen to me anyway.  _

Rhys jerked his chin toward the door, and Cassian followed his silent order. Part of him wanted to stay, but a larger part of him wanted to be there when they saw Elain. It was presumptuous of him, but he wanted to be there since Nesta clearly wouldn’t go. 

Before she left, Feyre gave her sister one final concession. “I’m sorry, Nesta.” Nesta didn’t give any indication that she heard or cared about the hollow apology. She just collapsed back on her chair and picked up her book. But she heard it, he knew she did. And he knew she didn’t react because she didn’t believe it for a second. 

Leaving Nesta alone in the library was so much harder than it should have been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nesta saved a sexy massage scene and Cass short-circuited. I think this will be the final nessian angst scene I post for a while.   
> Only fluff from here on out.   
> And by that I mean Service is next because my country in imploding and I need Nessian cuddle time.


	6. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Lord of Day as an interesting proposition for a simple human woman.

Summer was hot, humid. Sticky and uncomfortable. The loose dresses made of sheer and shining material made it bearable, but the layer of sweat still clung to her. She found herself trying to adjust her clothes around her chest when no one was looking. To lift and separate because anywhere skin met skin would stick and chafe. 

George ran through the fountain, chasing a cat made of water. His footsteps were uneven, unsteady, and unrelenting - just as a two-year-old’s should be. The other children ran with him. Many were older, some were his age, all were fae, all were careful to not let him fall. Tabitha smiled at the sight as she fanned herself. 

It’s been over a month since the war ended. She had been offered to be taken home, as all the refugees were. And she was offered the chance to remain. Most of the humans balked at the thought, their fear of the fae overriding the delights of the Summer Court. Even the Children of the Blessed chose to go home, saying they were not yet “worthy” of living in paradise. A couple of their senior members, the ones who had “earned the right” remained. 

Tabitha just didn’t feel like going home. 

She didn’t like the fae, even now. But she liked this. She liked watching George run and smile. No one judged her or him, asking needling questions about his father or her future. No one tried to instruct him to not know mommy in public, to play the pretend game, to call the housekeeper momma. Here she was only Tabitha, her son was George, and her life was unreasonably simple. 

She sighed. Simple, but not easy, not for much longer. She was going to need to find a job soon. She wasn’t even sure what she was qualified to do. She could read, write, play piano a little, needlepoint a little, paint a little, but nothing of substance. She was raised to marry and run a house, nothing more and nothing less. 

Perhaps she could work as a shop hand? Would they hire her? The fae here in Summer were kind enough, especially to her son. But they tended to treat her as though she were two, young and helpless and ignorant. A burden to be taken care of, even if they wouldn’t say the words. They weren’t wrong, but it still grated. She was 25, she was a mother, she was not stupid. 

George tripped over his own steps, falling face first in shallow water. Tabitha shot to her feet, watching. One beat, two, and he was up. No tears, no blood. A look of determination settled deep into his cartoonishly tiny features. He lept for the water-cat trying to find vengeance for his humiliation. As though it wasn’t his fight. 

“George! Be careful!” She called before sitting back down on her bench. She was sure he didn’t hear her, but that was fine. He wasn’t hurt. 

“Lots of energy at that age, huh?” 

Tabitha recoiled. She hadn’t realized anyone was next to her. She hadn’t heard anyone walk up or sit down. But there he was, a large, dark fae man dressed in clothing that wasn’t really clothing. It was just fabric wrapped around him and pinned to his shoulder. 

“You,” she said in lieu of a greeting. This man - this male, she had been corrected enough, she should really get that language down - had been there that night, had removed her from the human lands. 

“Hello again, Tabitha,” he smiled at her. It was a dark and inviting smile, one that offered a filthy good time. Ben offered her a similar smile the night they made George. 

She swallowed and pushed out the thought, the memory. “Hello… what was your name again?” 

The smile gained amusement. “Helion, High Lord of Day.” He extended a hand to her. All her breeding and training kept her face even as she shook the High Lord’s hand. “Nice to formally meet you.” By the fucking Wall, she was taken to Summer by a  _ High Lord _ ? Nesta arrived at her house  _ accompanied _ by a High Lord. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her. She had learned tales of Feyre Cursebreaker, the High Lady of Night. She only met Nesta’s sister once, but if one sister married a High Lord, certainly her sister could know the others. In the moment it took her to process this information, she found herself settled again. She grew up connecting webs of relationships and nobility, this was no different, just new. 

“What brings you to Summer, High Lord?” 

“Just Helion,” his pleased smile revealed the lie in his words. This male might want to appear casual, might even genuinely want to have casual friendships. But his ego enjoys his title, enjoys being stroked by the sound of it. 

She threw an obvious glance around her, to other parents now watching them and not their children playing in the fountain. “I believe it would cause quite a riot if I did not refer to you with your title. So what about simply ‘my lord’?” 

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers, “Very well, you will have to save my name for when we are alone.” 

_Oh, he is_ ** _good._** Tabitha smiled despite herself. She missed this. The puzzle of words, sniffing out what made them tick. With one sentence she could bring a man to his knees, fantasizing about the promises he thought he heard but she only implied. With another she could cut his ankles, destroy his heart, and revel in his sorrow. 

There was only one person she ever met who could play this game as well, even if she seemed to resent half of it. 

“May I ask again what brings the High Lord of Day to Summer?” 

“I had business with Tarquin and thought I would come to see you, as well.” 

“Me? Did Nesta send you?” 

Something a little sad crossed his features, “No, she did not.” He cleaned up his face quickly. “I was simply curious when I heard you chose to remain here. How are you enjoying Summer?”

“It is…”  _ hot. Loud. Suffocating.  _ “Different.” 

“Have you found more permanent lodgings?”    
  


Tabitha tilted her head. “Why do you ask?” 

“I am simply curious. Humor me.”

“I have not, no.” 

“Would you consider moving to another Court?”

  
She tilted her head. “Is there an invitation coming, my lord?” 

There was a flash of enjoyment, of play. Her guess was correct. This male loved to play, too. “The world has changed, and I find myself needing a  _ human _ perspective. I wonder if you would be willing to provide it.” 

She blinked. “You want me to be an advisor?” 

“In a manner of speaking, as well as an emissary when my Court needs to deal with the humans.” 

“Why me?” 

  
He angled his head, “Because you remained in Prythian.” 

“So did others.” 

“Others do not know the human lords as you do.” 

“True, most were Children.” 

“And you are close with Nesta Archeron.” 

“Why does that matter?” 

Now his smile was dark for wholly different reasons. “Because Nesta Archeron is a sister of the High Lady of Night, and it would be a useful connection for dealing with that Court,” he lied. He must have seen that she saw through him, because he followed up immediately. “And I am curious what she was like before.” 

“You want me to move to your Court to gossip about Nesta?”

“It’s not gossip, it’s information gathering.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I need to know  _ what  _ came out of the Cauldron. And more importantly, if it is what went in.” 

Tabitha only had a vague idea of what the Cauldron was and how it was used to change her friends into fae. Rumors and stories. The Cauldron made sisters who slew the King of Hybern and held his head up like a trophy. Tabitha would have liked to see the sight. Her friend succeeding where even the ancient heroes failed. 

“I will not betray her.” 

He liked that. “She is not doing well.” Nesta had never done well in her life. Her mother saw to that. Tabitha held her tongue. “At some point she will need to find answers as to what she is, and I would like to have them at the ready. I will need your help for that.”

“Again, why do you care?” 

“I don’t.” That wasn’t a lie. “I am sympathetic, but I do not actually care. I am, however, curious.” Tabitha tilted her head, indicating he continue. “Have you never found a puzzle and been itching to solve it? To know? To understand?”

Her eyes flicked back to the thing her son was chasing. She smiled, as wicked and delighted as Helion’s own.. “There is a saying about curiosity and cats, my lord.” She warned. She stood and called out to her son. He came trotting up, soaked and smiling. 

She placed a hand on his cheek and ruffled his hair before turning both of their attentions to the High Lord of Day. “George, this nice man is going to take us to our new home. Say hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently there will be a part two of sympathy


End file.
